


Underneath It's Me

by musiquetta



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Kissing, References to Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiquetta/pseuds/musiquetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison gets a new assignment – write a portrait of Lydia Martin, world-famous fashion icon and renowned scientist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath It's Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starswalkbackward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswalkbackward/gifts).



> Thanks for the great beta go to wolfbadtreepretty!

If there were such a thing as a culturally established female counterpart to the playboy, Lydia Martin would be it, Allison thought, as she chewed on her lip, angrily spinning in her office chair.

 

When her editor had assigned her this story, all she had known about 'Lydia Martin, cultural phenomenon' had been derived from trashy magazines at the doctor's office.

 

It was mainly gossip about the latest boy toy or 'gal pal' at her side, the clothes she wore, and the clubs she frequented. While some would mention her day job, Allison had never been bored enough to read those magazines in that much detail.

 

Long story short, Allison had gritted her teeth and gotten to work. She was frustrated that, once again she would be stuck on a stupid article about a woman whose talents included creating fashion trends and remembering who they were banging last week – which, whatever, her life. Her choices, right?

 

But if she was going to do this job, to write for the Beacon Hills Gazette, she would _prefer_ not to contribute to the general mindlessness of modern media.

 

The disappointment, however, only lasted from her boss rattling off the date and place of the interview, until Allison finally sat down to work and the shitty internet connection at the office had loaded the Wikipedia page.

 

Which was about the time it took to drink one cup of coffee, have one chat with Erica from I.T. about her plans for her upcoming vacation, help Isaac and Boyd cram some files into folders ready for archiving, another coffee, and to cuss out Stiles for messing with the coffee machine settings again.

 

Now, with half of Scott's tuna sandwich, which he had graciously offered her after she complained to him during coffee number two, she stared at the wikipedia page and, well.

 

She owed Lydia Martin an apology. She owed her boss an apology.

 

She owed Scott half a tuna sandwich.

 

Lydia Martin was – and Allison used that word very sparingly – amazing.

 

Two doctorates, one in Mathematics and one in Physics. First female recipient of the Isaac Newton award for pathbreaking contributions to calculations concerning of quantum field theory. Youngest recipient of the Field's medal for outstanding contributions to the dynamics and geometry of Riemann surfaces. Founder of three independent fashion labels and face of three major lifestyle magazines.

 

„When do you sleep?“ Allison murmurs under her breath at the picture of Lydia Martin, draped over the side of a yacht, smiling down from the screen – as if she knew she had fooled Allison well and truly.

 

„Are you a fan, too?“ a voice came right beside her ear.

 

Allison startled, nearly spilling coffee over her keyboard. She had been so engrossed in that picture of Lydia – with the slightly opened lips curling into a sly smile at the edges, _Allison, stop_ – she completely missed Stiles dropping into his chair at the desk next to her.

 

“Not … really.” she said.

 

„You writing something about her or what?“ Stiles was munching on what appeared to be the other half of Scott's sandwich.

 

„Because if you are, I am so totally jealous, I've been crushing on her for like, forever, I could write this article in my sleep.“

 

„Sorry, this one's mine.“ Allison said, smiling sympathetically at the way Stiles shrugged.

 

„Well, I'll always have Paris.“ Stiles said and took another bite.

 

„What happened in Paris?“

 

„At _T_ _he_ _Paris_ , that fancy nightclub? I ran into her there completely by accident after studying all of her social media profiles for a while. I was then personally ignored by her while Scott managed to distract the bodyguards long enough for me to get into her general vicinity.“ Allison raised her eyebrows as she watched Stiles gaze wistfully into the distance. „I sat on her bar stool after she left.”

 

„I can think of no reason why the boss would assign me this story and not you,“ she deadpanned and Stiles nodded emphatically.

 

„Yeah, right? But anyway, I'm still totally gonna send you my YouTube playlist of Lydia Martin kicking ass.“

 

It was a long list, which was fairly surprising. Allison never thought that anything could capture Stiles' attention for more than a few moments. Yet, here she had video material of what must add up to a couple of hours.

 

The videos covered topics throughout Lydia's career – fashion, science debates, even the odd political video. Most previews featured Lydia's bright smile – and despite the topics covering a wide range, half of which were a mystery to Allison, the sequence of events would remain the same.

 

The debate would drone on, and then attention would turn to Lydia.

 

She would smile, tug on her skirt and adjust her hair, taking just long enough for the camera to also capture the sneers and patronising smiles of those around her –

 

Then she would tear into the theses, arguments and statements made before. And half the time Allison had no idea what she was saying half the time but the look of utter defeat on their faces told Allison all she needed to know.

 

Really, Allison had seen lions give gazelles gentler treatment.

 

At the end of the day, she was well prepared and thoroughly excited. And a bit terrified.

 

Also, possibly, a bit turned on.

 

On the big day, she sat in a restaurant where she herself would never eat, foot tapping against the foot of the table as she skimmed the questions she had prepared.

 

When Lydia Martin entered, the room took a deep breath; for a split second, it seemed like the center of gravity shifted towards the figure emerging from the thick drapes covering the entry, all light bending towards her.

 

Or maybe that was just Allison.

 

Also, the sudden influx of astrophysics in her thoughts might be credited to the hours she spent on Wikipedia trying to get a sense of whatever the hell it was that Lydia was doing.

 

(She had ended up watching a children's education series Martin had done a few years back and firmly did not think it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.)

 

Lydia Martin strode over to Allison's table, smile bright on her dark red lips.

 

Allison stood, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing as her knee collided with the table leg. She almost stumbled, awkwardly extending her hand even as Miss Martin was still several steps away from the table.

 

Lydia's lips curled in honest amusement as Allison's hand sank again, then lifted when they were actually in range for a handshake.

 

Strong manicured fingers grabbed her hand as Allison stuttered her name.

 

“I know who you are.” Lydia gently pulled her forward to press a kiss to Allison's cheek before she leaned back. Her fingers were still grasping Allison's hand as she looked her up and down.

 

“Isn't that the cutest dress I've seen this week.” Lydia drawled, giving Allison a once over.

 

“My mother was big on fashion.” Allison blurted and – really, Allison? Your mother? In front of the woman slash world-famous genius slash _hot piece of ass_ that she was nursing a most uncomfortable crush on? “So I, uhm, she – I know a bit about this stuff. Not as much as you, of course! But – uhm.”

 

Allison dropped Lydia's hand.

 

“That's so sweet.” Lydia said, smile bright on her red lips.  
  
Allison all but slumped back into her chair as Lydia's companion helped her out of her coat.

 

Lydia slid into her chair with easy grace as Allison cleared her throat, grabbing the stack of paper lying in front of her.

 

“So your current fashion project is taking off and – ” Allison started to ask her first question, but Lydia held up a hand while she signalled the waiter.

 

“First, some drinks – and food?” Lydia asked. Allison found herself nodding, awkwardly pushing aside her notes.

 

“So,” Lydia started, “what brought a smart and beautiful woman like you to the Beacon Hills Gazette?”

 

Allison bit her lip – to subdue her smile, mostly – when her stupid traitor stomach started to flutter.

 

Allison's heart was beating a mile a minute when Lydia's eyes lingered on her the whole time, from post-graduation lack of plans to getting a job at the newspaper where her best friend slash ex works at. Then just never really moving on, sticking around, because it paid the bills and passed the time. She didn't have any better plan anyhow.

 

Lydia looked at her with interest; Allison knew better than to think it was anything but faked – as if a woman of her worldly experience and knowledge would find Allison's woeful tale of mediocre life decisions worth her time.

 

“And I really don't know why I am telling you all this, I'm pretty sure I should be lying right now, you know, making myself look better in a vain attempt to not look like such a dunce next to you.” She laughed nervously but Lydia's eyes were dark and unmoving for a moment. It was like she's assessing Allison as if she was a puzzle, or an equation to solve.

 

“I think these will help.” Lydia said, gesturing towards the arriving drinks. “And believe me, I have seen dunces, and they do not look like you.”

 

She was just about to sip the bright red drink as the smell of alcohol burns in her nostrils. “Perhaps I shouldn't – this is work for me after all.”

 

“And it isn't for me?” Lydia leaned forward over the table and a wave of her perfume hit Allison. It wass a field of flowers on a hot summer day and it burned Allison more than the alcohol in her drink. Lydia smiled; there was conspiracy in her voice. “I won't tell if you don't?”

 

And yeah, no, that was definitely flirting that was going on here and Allison was certain it was not a good thing that that made her so _happy_.

 

On the other hand it had been a tough year and she had sworn to herself that she would start letting good things happen.

 

Allison smiled back, lifted the glass to her lips and drank.

 

Later, the cold night air hit her face as they leave the restaurant; it did nothing to stifle the warm fluttering of Allison's heart.

 

The streets were empty, but Allison was filled with laughter and good food and the inexplicable warmth that she had been missing for too long. Allison took a few stale breaths of inner city air as the sound of Lydia's heels followed her out of the restaurant.

 

Her bag was heavy on her shoulder and it reminded her of the catalogue of questions she had stuffed into her bag after they had laid on the table the whole night, forgotten until now.

 

“Damn.”

 

The word escapes her lips before she can stop it.

 

“What?” Lydia came to stand beside her, tugging out her long hair from where it was tucked under her coat.

 

“I … might have forgotten to ask you any questions.” Allison confessed. She had not even thought about it while a drink had turned into an appetizer had turned into dinner.

 

Talking to Lydia had been too easy, too comfortable, for Allison to hold on to her dwindling resolve.

 

Lydia laughed. “Well, the night is still young – and I promise I won't let you leave without your questions answered.” Lydia bit her lip. “Unless you've got other plans for tonight?”

 

“None at all.” Allison said, before Lydia finished talking really – and half a Cosmopolitan earlier she would have kicked herself for how quick she said that.

 

Then, Lydia extended her hand, just as a cab pulled up, Allison could not quite bring herself to care.

 

From up here, in Lydia's apartment, the city still looked alive.

 

“Slowly I'm getting the feeling your job pays better than mine,” Allison says, looking at the skyline as Lydia comes over with two glasses filled with sparkling wine.

 

“Only slowly?” Lydia asked as they toasted, still with that smile that was half the reason Allison was up here. “Then I must be doing something wrong – I thought I was spoiling you.”

 

And there was that look in her eyes again, the one that made Allison's stomach tingle more than the wine ever could. Their eyes met while they drink and she feels herself blushing over the stupid grin that spread on her lips.

 

“Sorry, I – ” She took a sip from her glass. “I don't usually do this.”

 

“Do what?” Lydia drawled. “Coming upstairs with someone famous? With someone you barely know? With a girl?”

 

“Yes!” Allison said, nervous laughter bubbling up in her throat.

 

“Well,” Lydia raises her glass. “To doing new things.”

 

Their glasses clinked as they toasted anew.

 

Allison's lips were still prickling from the wine when they met Lydia's.

 

Then, it was easy, like it had been in the restaurant; their hands found each other as their bodies collided, sharing warmth in the slight chill of the dark room.

 

Lydia's hands came to rest on Allison's hips, pulling her closer as their lips move together – and for a moment Allison tensed again, she has another flash of _this isn't really me_.

 

Except that she kind of wished it _was_ her.

 

Her teeth bit down on Lydia's lip, making her gasp and hold on tighter.

 

The next morning, Allison woke to gentle light streaming in from the curtains.

 

The bed beside her was empty and cold, but there was a note on the bedside table with her name written on the top. She unfolded it with her trembling fingers.

 

'It seems we never did get around to your questions,' the looping scripts said. 'I'm sure you could fill the pages but I don't recall the Gazette being that kind of paper … so, let me make it up to you?'

 

Below, there was a number and a couple of Xs. Allison smiled as she cradled the number against her chest.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think? 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://cptcarol.tumblr.com/) for angry pro femslash blogging.


End file.
